


Sick Day

by castlealbion



Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, Jack Lowden - Fandom
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlealbion/pseuds/castlealbion
Summary: Based on a request received for an imagine where y/n is at work and sick but trying to power through it. Jack notices and takes care of her realising he may feel more than just friendship.





	Sick Day

SICK DAY

She looked absolutely miserable, in fact Jack was beginning to wonder if she might actually be dying. The stubborn lass kept insisting that she was ok, even though she was clearly far from it. She was sick, so sick that he knew if it were him he would have been in bed wishing for his mum hours ago, not walking around trying trying to work. He watched her as she gulped down another bottle of orange juice, hands shaking as she tried to screw the lid back on. Her eyes were all glassy and droopy and her cheeks were so flushed she looked sunburnt, he would bet money she was running a hell of a fever.

He couldn't stop thinking about her as he ran through the scene again and again, becoming irritated when his co star kept fudging his lines. Watching her sit down in his chair as they reset again he cringed inwardly when she went into a coughing fit that no doubt left her throat raw.

She had been his on set assistant for the whole shoot and never once had she ever shown the slightest discomfort. Not when they’d had to shoot all night in the rain or when his call time was changed to 3am with only an hour’s notice. She’d done everything asked of her and then some without complaint. Shit, she’d made sure he was fed, clothed, and bathed, brutally when he’d whinged or whined about being too tired to bother. The only thing he had had to worry about since arriving on set was his work.

Which made him feel like utter shite in the current situation. There was no way that should be worrying about him in her current condition. But there she was and it wasn't fair.

The scene was finally filmed to satisfaction and Jack made his way over to his chair, fully prepared to order her to go home and rest. He wasn't due back on set until later that night and he was fairly certain he was a grown enough man to take care of himself until she felt better.

The chair was empty and Jack cursed under his breath, stopping one of the ADs as they passed.

“Hey have ye seen Y/N?”

“Outside mate.”

Jack exited the building and looked around, spying her leaning against the wall, head down on her chest, breathing heavily. Guilt rose in him that he hadn't even noticed that she was getting sick and letting it get this bad before he did anything about it.

“Y/N.” he watched as she jumped away from the wall, glancing around trying to focus on him.

“It’s done? Good, let's get you to wardrobe.” 

She even sounded awful he realised as she started walking, looking over her shoulder to make sure he was following.

“I ordered lunch for you, it should be in your trailer when you get there. Then we can go over the call sheet for tonight and tomorrow, looks like you’ll be sleeping in the trailer tonight.”

“No.” he stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks, close enough to see how pale she was under the fever flush. “Ye are goin tae take the day and go home.”

“I’m fine Jack.” she looked irritated that he would even suggest otherwise.

Normally he loved getting her irritated, her eyes would flash and her nose would crinkle up, it was adorable. Today it was just sad.

“Y/N, seriously, ye look like shite, ye need tae rest.”

“I’m not going home, I can manage and that’s the last I want to hear about it.”

She stomped off, her exit lacking the dramatic emphasis she intended when she had to stop suddenly to cough up a lung.

“Stubborn fucking wench.” Jack muttered as he followed her.

He was going to have to force her to listen to reason, one way or another.

She was sitting on the steps on the wardrobe trailer when he came out, comfortable in his jeans and jumper and out of the itchy woollen suit. Her head was resting against the railing, eyes closed, arms hanging loosely.

Without a second thought he passed by, leaning over and scooping her up into his arms. She came awake with a jolt, wriggling as he started walking toward his trailer.

“What the hell, put me down for fuck’s sake.”

“Nope, yer half dead ye eejit. Ye’re goin tae rest whether ye like it or not. Now shush and quit squirmin or I’ll drop ye arse over tit in the nearest mud puddle.”

He laughed as she stilled, content to shoot daggers at him with her eyes.

“Tha’s better me stubborn wee lass, I’m the boss and ye haf tae do what I say.”

“Fuck you.” she ground out as they reached his trailer.

“Maybe another time darlin, when ye aren’t likely tae give me the bubonic plague.”

That stopped any further protests in their tracks.  
He put her down inside the door, walking back to the bedroom to grab her something to change into.

“Go get changed, get summan comfy on.”

“I’m fine.”

He stepped up to her, chest touching her chin, forcing her to look up.

Take these things off, or I’ll take em off fer ye. Ye’re choice luv.”

When she didn’t move for a moment his fingers grasped at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up. She jumped back like he was on fire, snatching the change of clothes from his hands.

“Fine. You know, you’re a bully.”

“Whatever ye haf tae tell yerself sweetheart.” he called after her, earning him a slammed door.

He chuckled to himself as he set up blankets and a pillow on the couch facing the tv. She was fiery and stubborn and wonderful. He valued her friendship as well as her work, no-one else had been willing to sit through a Stars Wars marathon with him before he saw the new movie. The fact that she’d already seen and kept quiet, letting him enjoy the moment had just proven that she was an amazing woman.

Plus it certainly didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes. He’d felt the spark of attraction the moment they’d been introduced and it was still there, he just hid it well. However, there’d been several times he’d caught himself daydreaming about touching her, having her under him, around him. He would have felt bad about it except he knew she was attracted to him too, just not as good at hiding it. On more than one occasion he’d caught her watching him, cheeks pink, eyes dilated. He took great great delight in winking at her in those moments, loving the way she would blush and look away.

As she came out of his room wearing his t-shirt and shorts, Jack felt his breath catch as something twisted in his chest. Pushing it aside, he grabbed a bottle of water and held out two white pills.

“What are those?” she asked suspiciously, still glaring at him.

“Just paracetamol, lass donnae panic, I’m no plannin tae drug ye and haf me wicked way wi ye. I’d rather prefer ye were awake fer tha.”

“God you’re an arrogant bastard, anyone ever tell you that?” she swallowed the pills, swaying on her feet.

“Aye, I’m told folk think tha. Put some o this on.”

“Vicks?”

“Fer yer cough and yer nose. Ye sound like a hungover frog. Do ye need some help?”

“I got it.” she grabbed the jar from his hands, slathering the pungent goo on her chest under the shirt. He simply stood back and watched as she struggled to reach her back, waiting for the inevitable.

“Can you? Would you mind?”

“Sure lass.” he took the jar from her before rolling the shirt up to bare her back. “Hold on tae tha.”

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. The expanse of smooth skin was an actual work of art, a gorgeous tattoo running from her shoulder, down her spine and into the shorts. Another two were visible down her sides, over her ribs, writing that he couldn’t read without getting too close. How had he never known about this?

He slathered the Vicks over her skin, barely resisting the urge to trace his fingers over every inch of the inked patterns. It was beautiful work, intricate and well executed and he had no doubt that it meant something important.

She started shivering and he reluctantly pulled the shirt down, easing her to the couch with his palm on her hip. As she sank down he noticed another tiny tattoo on her ankle, a pretty Celtic knot with something written around it in what looked like gaelic.

“Wha does yer ankle say?” the question was out before he could stop himself.

“Daonnan agus gu brath.” she murmured as he pulled the blanket over her.

Always and forever. He felt a twinge as he wondered who had been important enough to her to earn that place on her body. Whoever he was, Jack hated him. The realization that he did brought him up short.

“I got it for my sister.” her voice brought him back from his thoughts. “She died a couple of years ago, it was her doodle and I wanted a part of her with me.”

“It’s verra pretty.” he sat on the chair next to the couch, resting his hand on her forehead. Her fever was high, but the Vicks seemed to be helping a little with her breathing.

“You don’t seem like a man who would approve of tattoos.”

“Shows wha ye know then doesna it? Yers are amazin.”

“My sister designed them for me.”

“Do they mean anythin?”

She nodded, sipping and swallowing the water he handed her gratefully.

“The big one is like a lifeline, each little part is an important thing, I add them from time to time. The others are quotes from poems.”

He wanted more details, to know what quotes, why she had chosen them. He wanted to take hours and discover every moment she had etched into her skin. He wanted…

“Fucking hell.” he breathed out as it hit them.

She was already asleep, her cheeks lighter than they had been. He reached over to tuck the blanket around her, fingers tracing over her cheek. Moving the chair closer he brushed his palm over her hair as she slept, his eyes never leaving her. She would start whimpering in her sleep if he took his hand away so he kept it there, soothing her.

Hours passed as he watched her, her cheeks lightening, the coughing subsiding, his emotions in turmoil. As much as he tried to talk himself out of it he had come to a jolting realization.

He was in love with this woman.

Now what the fuck was he going to do about it?


End file.
